Inside
by Sadie Flood
Summary: Ainsley is feeling frustrated. So is Donna, as it turns out.
1. 1

Title: Inside  
Author: Sadie Flood (sadieflood666@yahoo.com)  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Ainsley/Donna  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that obviously isn't mine. :)

Always inside  
I act just like you  
So you'll like what you see  
You won't see through   
my eyes  
--Sam Phillips, "Soul Eclipse"

I must admit that in the old days before all of this started, I was one of those people who demands to know why it's so important to be all open and in-your-face about your sexual preference. Orientation. Whatever you want to call it. I don't know and I don't care, because it doesn't mean anything to me. Even now. The only reason I'm feeling the way I'm feeling right now is that it would just be really nice to be able to keep the smile on my face when I see her across a crowded room instead of having to hide it right away.   
  
It has nothing to do with who or what I am. I don't imagine I'll be very interested in marching in any parades or putting those bumper stickers on my car, for example. Because, seriously, what's the point? It's none of anyone's business who I go home with but my own. Well, and hers, I suppose. More than anything the frustration comes from the reaction I'd assuredly get if I didn't hide that smile or if I didn't keep myself from standing too close when we talk in the hallway. I'm angry with everyone I know, it seems, as well as everyone I don't know, for something they haven't even done yet, but they surely would if they were faced with the decision to react hostilely or, you know not.  
  
I don't know, maybe it was stupid to embark upon this particular journey knowing what would face me, or us, in the end. Maybe it was overly naïve of me to think we could just be together without interference from this job for which I usually tend to feel I've surrendered my social life. Usually I don't mind that sacrifice, but right now, I don't mind telling you, it's really pissing me off. I want to wear a t-shirt to work tomorrow that says "I Love Donna" in big black letters. I don't know if I do, exactly--love her, I mean, it's kind of a complicated issue, particularly considering my unfortunate romantic history, if you could call my unfortunate history romantic, but the general sentiment applies and I think it would fit better across my chest than "I Sleep With Donna, Regularly."   
  
What I mean by that, so no one who might be reading this gets offended, is that I simply don't know if what I feel for her is love. Certainly I enjoy the pleasure of her company, with or without the added benefit of sexual interaction. It's just the definition of love that eludes me, and I don't want to throw around the term lightly. Because if it is this easy to fall for someone, to cross that line between friendship and love, then why is it such an issue for everyone else? Why is it so hard? This can't be all there is. But I don't know what else I'm waiting for. Maybe true love arrives in the form of an anvil dropping from the sky, maybe when it hits you in the head, that's when you know.  
  
For us it was easy. Sexual chemistry seemed, in this particular situation, to be the natural and inevitable result of a quickly-progressing friendship, endless late-night phone calls, shopping excursions, lunches, a repertoire of private jokes and secret smiles, girls' nights out. So whether it's love or it isn't, I would call this the best relationship I've had in my entire life. As for the whole she's-a-girl-and-so-am-I issue, well, who really cares? Once you get beyond the "hey, I'm not supposed to be doing this" factor, it's every bit as pleasant as I've heard being with men can be, just in a different way. One method of obtaining satisfaction isn't superior to the other, in my experience, except for the relative skill of your partner, but I don't really want to get into the sordid details of our private encounters right now. A girl should retain a little modesty, I think.  
  
Anyway, I haven't discussed my history with her, and she hasn't really gone into any detail with me about hers either. Frankly, I, like everyone else within a ten-foot radius of the two of them on one of their cute little banter tangents, assumed she was with Josh. I never asked her if anything happened between the two of them and I don't really know if I want to find out, so I'll keep quiet about that for now. I don't know, maybe she's with me _because_ she isn't with him, which is a pretty ugly thought. I haven't told her about the boys back home, or the girls in college, and I haven't had to defend myself to her yet like I did with the others and give her the lecture about how identifying myself as a Republican doesn't automatically qualify me for membership in the long list of right-wing hate groups. There are extreme groups on the left, too, you know, although the girls I've chosen in the past have usually hated to hear that and hotly defended or tried to rationalize the difference between them and "us." There's been none of that with Donna, and I wonder if she knows how much I appreciate that. I guess I should probably tell her.   
  
Anyway, I never really understood those books where the heroine's always longing and yearning for things to be different. I always wondered why she didn't just go out and force things to go her way. So I guess it's a little funny that I'm one of those weak-willed heroines now, wishing and hoping and never really trying to do anything about it. I talk to Sam, and the guys in the office, and it's a constant battle to keep from letting that one tiny little detail about what I do after hours slip out. I really wish I wasn't so good at controlling myself. But in the end, I guess it doesn't really matter whether I can put my hand on her shoulder during the day. I'm satisfied with what we have when we go home, her place or mine, and I can deal with it being like this for now. She needs me to keep my mouth shut as much as I need her to do the same.   
  
Maybe I'll just wait for her to cave in first, to succumb to the temptation to tell everyone and be as open and free as we want to all the time, and then I'll just go along with it, pretend like doing that never even occurred to me, but well, okay, if that's what she really wants...  
  
God, I'm such a hypocrite. If I were her, I would never have stuck around with someone as maddeningly uncertain as I am for this long. But she has, and she probably doesn't know how much I appreciate that, either. I guess I should probably tell her . . . as long as no one's looking, right?  
  
I really hate myself sometimes.

Thank God she doesn't. 

Yet...


	2. 2

AN: This one is from Donna's POV. It's my first attempt at getting inside her head. Thanks to Michelle K. for the concept. :)

Blonde vacuum with a hidden mouth  
That smokes inside like a cigarette  
Sending languages  
Secret messages  
But I haven't found you yet  
--Sam Phillips, "Soul Eclipse"

If there's anything I've learned from my unfortunately vast romantic experience, it's not to ask questions. If someone wants you to know something, they'll tell you, and if they haven't told you, it's better that you don't know. So when she started acting strange, I knew exactly what not to do, even though it was a struggle from the first second I noticed. I was dying of curiosity. What have I done? What can I do? Instead I kept my mouth shut, smiled at her, pretended not to notice.  
  
It seems strange how you can share so much with one person, how you can be the person who knows what they look like first thing in the morning, and there can still be this thing that hangs over you that no one talks about. Why should it be an issue? Why can't I just say, "Hey, what's wrong?" Well, I know why not. Because if I do, and then she actually tells me, we'll be one step closer to over, and I'm not ready for this to end yet. If this ends now, then it goes on the "Relationships that lasted less than three months" which, while not quite as pathetic as the "Relationships that lasted less than three weeks" list, is still entirely too long.  
  
That's not the only reason. Of course it's not. Maybe it's pride. I started it, I want to be the one who decides when it ends. No, that's too simple. Childish, even. I guess it must be there, if I was able to think of it, but it can't be all there is to it. I mean, I don't know what I'd call the way I feel about her, but clearly this is special. Certainly she's different from the dime-a-dozen guys I've dated since I mostly gave up my social life for this job. I can't really articulate what it is that made me make the first move--for me, it's been since high school, and I had no idea she'd ever even been with a girl. It's obvious now that she has, but we haven't talked about that. We haven't talked about a lot of things.   
  
I wonder if she's having second thoughts. I wonder if she's had enough. I wonder if she thinks this was all a mistake, something to be filed away in that box at her parents' house, the one with the leg warmers and those pictures of Corey Haim she cut out of magazines when she was younger. I'd be more direct about all of this, I'd just ask her if she wanted out, if I were stronger. I wish I weren't so afraid of not being with her--well, to be fair, what I'm mostly afraid of, I think, is not being with anyone at all. I've had dry spells before, long ones, it comes with the territory of this job. But there's something irreplaceable about the comfort of going to sleep next to the same person you wake up beside, of knowing there's someone out there who enjoys your company, who knows what you look like first thing in the morning and still comes back every night.   
  
I can tell I care about her more specifically than if she was just somebody I happened to be sleeping with for a while, though. This isn't random. I chose her. I chose this. And the way I can tell it's more genuine than certain other relationships in which I've entangled myself over the years is that I really want to tell somebody. Normally I'm fine with secrecy, and while I enjoy a bit of office gossip, I never want to be the subject of it. But now I want to be able to talk to someone about the way I feel about her. Unfortunately, the only person I could talk to about it happens to be her, and we don't talk about things like that, because the only thing worse than appearing to want out is appearing too dependent.   
  
I can't talk to Josh, because I don't think he'd be able to see past the whole lesbian issue, not that it is an issue. And if it got out, I know the consequences could be disastrous for her. Maybe for me, too. And, to his credit, Josh generally keeps his mouth shut about the sordid details of his relationship with Amy Gardner, probably out of some kind of misguided respect for me, so I should probably show him the same sort of respect.   
  
I know there are people out there who think there's something going on between him and me, or that there has been in the past, or maybe even that there will be in the future, but frankly, after all we've been through together, I don't think I ever could let that happen. He's like a brother. A really annoying, overprotective older brother, the kind who pulls your pigtails (figuratively) at home but beats up errant suitors for you, too. So it would just be gross, really.  
  
Maybe that's what's bothering her. Maybe she thinks I'm going to leave first. I've seen her bristle, ever so slightly, when she sees us together. It's subtle; I don't think anyone else would notice. But I know every expression in her repertoire, and I know their meanings. When we're alone now, she tries hard to make it look like there's nothing wrong, but I can just tell. It's in the inflections of her voice when she talks about her day, the look on her face when she asks about mine.   
  
How can I think I know her inside and out and end up not really knowing her at all? I guess it doesn't matter. Until it all comes crashing down, I'll just keep pretending like I didn't see anything change, and she'll keep pretending she's happy with me. Whatever it is, she isn't talking, and I'm not asking, so I guess I'm safe for now.   
  
Isn't that what I wanted out of this from the start? I do feel safe. I do feel comfortable.   
  
I just really wish I wasn't this scared.


End file.
